


Standing Fast

by morwen_of_gondor, Wishfulthinking1979



Series: The Kingston Shatterpoint [7]
Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Age of Sail, Bromance, Brotherhood, Bush is the best at British stoicism, But even he needs a hug sometimes, Can we all take a moment to appreciate how fantastic Barbara Wellesly is?, Coping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Loyalty, Napoleonic Wars, loss of limb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29412588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morwen_of_gondor/pseuds/morwen_of_gondor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishfulthinking1979/pseuds/Wishfulthinking1979
Summary: This is set in the Shatterpoint AU wherein Archie Kennedy is alive and well. Bush has been given command of the Witch of Endor after the events of Dead Reckoning (the AU take of Flying Colors) and ordered to take the dispatches back to England while Hornblower follows to await his court martial.And it is as he returns to English shores that Bush is hit with the realization of the consequences for losing his leg. And he's not quite sure what he's going to do.Happily, Horatio has learned a FEW things about looking out for his dearest friend......
Relationships: Horatio Hornblower & Archie Kennedy, Horatio Hornblower/Barbara Wellesley, William Bush & Barbara Wellesley, William Bush & Horatio Hornblower, William Bush & Horatio Hornblower & Archie Kennedy
Series: The Kingston Shatterpoint [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2032912
Comments: 20
Kudos: 9





	1. Miles to go before I sleep

It did not suit Bush’s sense of decorum to wear a jacket as ill fitting as this. He was one who very much appreciated the regulations and strict attention to details in the British Navy, and it pained him to not be in proper uniform for his homecoming to British shores. 

Portsmouth was visible, and Brown was almost quivering in excitement toward the bow, while the former prisoners (looking much better now that they had been fed consistently and were looking to the freedom of England) were craning their necks to get a better view. One of them was a Welshman and Bush saw that the man was fighting tears at the sight of his home country.

Well.

Being Welsh he likely wouldn’t say that a view of the ever so English Portsmouth was ‘home’ in quite the way it was to Bush or Brown, but it was close all the same and when he met Bush’s eyes, he gave the man a smile and a touch to his hat. 

He could see Spithead now and happily the Channel winds were behaving themselves---blowing sweetly as they made their way gently into harbor. 

There were no roaring crowds or ringing bells. It was a quiet arrival for the little cutter and Bush shifted again---uncomfortable in the slightly too big jacket and very conscious of the newly pinned epaulette on his shoulder. 

He should be grateful that they had found him uniform on board the Triumph and he was. He was even more grateful for the title ‘commander’ and all the security that held. It would mean an increase in pay--enough that two of his sisters would not have to take in mending and ironing to make ends meet. This was all thanks to Horatio, he was certain of that.

All of this was very good indeed.

But.

He was not returning as a whole man. His promotion meant a dockyard position at best. Perhaps something with the home fleet if he was very fortunate. 

And it was not until this moment, with the scent of England’s sweet green grass wafting to him over the waves, that he acknowledged the reality ahead. Bush typically tried only to think of what he must do in the next moment. He usually left the worrying for the future to his Captain. This however, he could not ignore and his sturdy heart was causing him pain with each beat.

No more nimble scrambles up a ship’s ladder. No pacing of the quarterdeck and bawling out midshipmen. No views of pure blue as far as the eye could see. No….. and this was the hardest thought, and he was forced to admit it to himself….no deep sense of rightness and joy of command with his tall and angular Captain at his shoulder. 

Horatio should sail without him. Bush was certain the court martial would acquit him. His own promotion was a small proof of that, though he was in no doubt that Hornblower would be fretting each day away wondering at the verdict. And Bush would not be there to distract him. He hoped Kennedy was up to the task.

He tightened his grip on the tiller wondering at the pain in his chest with each breath. He understood why Horatio could not have sailed with them of course. Protocols must be followed as he awaited trial. And Bush was glad to command even so small a ship as the Witch. 

But he would rather sail at the side of his closest friend. It then occurred to him that his sisters may not know he even lived. And if they did it would be recent. They would not have the time or means to travel to see him. 

He wondered if he might be allowed time to go to the cottage. But first he had dispatches to deliver, and reports to make, not to mention a trial at which to testify. 

All this whirled in his brain as they came within a close enough distance to hail the men ready to help them get the Witch to anchor.

“Captain,” said the Harbor Master’s mate, giving him a salute. “Are you familiar with Portsmouth, sir? Do you need me to direct you to the Harbor Master’s quarters?”

Bush touched his hat (not his--another find for him and it was rather faded) in return before accepting the offered hand up to the docks. 

“I am familiar with Portsmouth, thank you,” he returned calmly, noting the other man take in his jury rigged leg and a flash of pity crossed his face.

Bush was sure it was well meant, but it was pouring salt on very raw wounds indeed, so he was perhaps more curt than he needed to be. 

“See to it that these men are all directed to The Lantern,” he directed. Then he turned to look at Brown.

“Brown, make sure you all get yourselves something to eat and drink. I shall join you to discuss lodging when I can.” He handed over some coin to the coxswain and ignored Brown’s concerned scowl.

“Sir. You should eat….”

“I said I will join you when I may, Mr. Brown, damn your eyes.”

He whirled stumping over the docks and then the cobbles as he made his way to the familiar buildings before he could be attacked with remorse too badly. Bush was not one to lose his temper. Oh, he could bawl out incompetent or lazy seamen with the best of them. Styles had learned that well after all. 

But it was rare that he was in a genuine temper, and he was displeased with himself for giving in to it. And he really did not have an appetite, though he was aware it had been some days since he’d had what could be properly termed a square meal. 

_Becoming a right Horatio,_ he thought crossly to himself and wondered if they had perhaps moved the Harbor Master’s building as it seemed further than ever. 

No, it was just the slower pace of his wooden leg, and already he could tell that it would need adjustment once more. It had worn down and he was slightly off balance, jarring his leg and causing pain in the knee joint.

He scoffed at himself for being so very weak in the face of both his physical and mental pain. He had a report to make, then dispatches to deliver and he would do his bloody duty, by God, or die trying.

A touch dramatic perhaps and again, he smiled grimly at himself at Horatio’s influence. He missed Kennedy. Kennedy who brought the sunny balance he and Hornblower often needed, albeit for different reasons. 

The Harbor Master took note of the Witch’s presence and gave him a curious look which Bush ignored. 

“The Admiralty building in Portsmouth if you please, sir?” Bush asked, needing a reminder.

He received the directions and proceeded to make his way there. It was a long walk, and as it was March in England, it naturally began to rain. Bush missed his greatcoat keenly (damn the Frogs!) and tugged his collar up around his ears. 

Certainly he had endured worse in their terrible flight on the Loire during the winter, but it seemed as though all things were conspiring to make him feel particularly hopeless about everything. Because while the rain driving into his face while on the deck of a ship was bracing and glorious, here it was merely adding to his chill and reminding him that he was trapped on land.

After waiting for what felt like an interminably long time at the Admiralty in his wet and shabby uniform, Bush stood before vice Admiral Thomas to hand the dispatches to his aide and make his report.

“The Witch of Endor you say,” the old man repeated. “And you met with Triumph and then Victory. Good Lord. We thought you all dead Mr. ah….Bush. Commander, by Jove, yes, so I see,” he added after his aide leaned to whisper in his ear. 

“Well, ah, Bush, you’ll no doubt be needing to find a post on land now I would imagine.”

Bush managed to keep his face stoic as the Admiral stared openly at the wooden leg, then shook his head.

And Bush could no longer be silent, his heart bleeding at the bleakness before him, but needing to make a defense if he could.

“I could manage well enough I think, sir. I did in our escape and in commanding the Witch here.”

Thomas clicked his tongue and shook his head again.

“No, I don’t see that happening, Bush. You did well, sir, in getting here, but His Majesty’s Navy needs able bodied men, not cripples.”

Bush winced internally, a flush rising up his cheeks. 

“Lord Nelson managed, sir,” he said and was rather amazed at himself for pressing the issue so far, with an Admiral no less. 

Thomas stared down his nose disapprovingly. “Lord Nelson, God rest his soul, was an _Admiral_ . And a hero. I trust, Commander Bush, that you are not in _any_ way comparing yourself to a national treasure like that?”  
  
“No, sir,” Bush managed as the death of all hope was laid out before him. He was condemned to a life of longing. It was just possible the merchant service might take him, but it was not likely. They were hesitant to take Royal Navy personnel at the best of times. 

“That will be all then, ah….Bush. Good luck, sir. His Majesty thanks you for the return of his vessel.”

And that was all. Twenty years at sea ending not with a bang but a whimper. 

Bush saluted and then did not have much memory of making his way out of the large building with its stone edifices and lofty arches. 

He stood in the portico, watching the rain, and wanted nothing so much as to sit and weep. 

But William Bush was made of sterner stuff than that. He had sisters who needed him. He would swallow his pride and see about one of the harbor positions. Surely his ability in understanding the Navy’s workings would be useful there. Bonaparte was still very much a problem and war meant many postings were available.

And yet…

...he was so very tired. And he had no desire to meet with Brown and the others who would no doubt be on the second pint by now and very jolly. 

The streets here were very busy as the Admiralty was located more toward the centre of the city. He stood rather numbly (quite literally so as the rain was a chill one and he had no gloves) and watched the carriages, horses and foot traffic. Other officers passed him occasionally and sometimes gave him curious looks, but none stopped to speak with him and he was grateful.

_What now?_

_  
_  
“Mr. Bush? Commander, I should say,” came a sweet voice from behind him, and he turned to behold an angel in a rich blue cloak.

  
  


******

Barbara Hornblower stepped out of her carriage and hurried up to the Admiralty in Portsmouth. The roads had been terribly crowded, and she was worried that she might be too late. That the object of her search might have moved on.

Horatio had managed to send correspondence via a small sailing ship which had been hailed as the fleet did their Channel maneuvers. He had been worried in the writing of it, that it might not reach England before William did, and so Lady Hornblower had dropped everything the moment she received it in London, to hasten to Portsmouth and make arrangements. 

He had expressed his happiness that Bush had been made commander, but also his displeasure that he had immediately been sent on a mission once more, having just escaped the French in their long and arduous action.

More was to be told naturally, and Barbara had this letter with her even now, as proof that her Captain lived.

Her grief had been profound at the reports of her husband’s death. Receiving this letter might have sent a lesser woman into a faint. 

Barbara was not a lesser woman.

Though she did have time to be somewhat amused that after the first two lines of ‘my darling’ and the following reassurances, his immediate thought had been for the care of his faithful first officer. 

She was aware that Horatio could be rather terrible when it came to observing people’s natures and needs. But he was not so bad at it as he supposed, and when it came to those close to him, he was exceedingly quick indeed to see what he might do for their comfort.

And William Bush needed comfort right now.

She ordered her carriage to wait in the street and moved swiftly through the portico toward the main entrance when a slim figure in a blue coat slightly too big for him came into view after a group of chatting lieutenants moved past. 

He stood quite still, hands clasped behind his back, as he gazed at the busy street before him. Barbara was very good at observing people as well. And the line of Commander Bush’s shoulders was quite defeated indeed. She saw the wooden leg immediately. Horatio had mentioned it---having not had much time to state more than bare facts in his swiftly composed missive. She could only imagine what was going through the head of this man, now on English shores without his Captain. 

“Mr. Bush?” she called. “Commander, I should say.”

He turned at her voice, looking as cold and miserable as she had ever seen him. And she had seen him in violent storms and close action on the Lydia. This was different and it cut her to the heart. 

He gave her a smile, mustered from the depths of the gentleman he was, and removed his hat. 

“Lady Barbara,” he said warmly and she reached her hands out to him. He gripped her fingers and she felt the icy coldness of his skin.

“Goodness, Commander,” she exclaimed. “We need to get out of this rain and find you someplace warm. No coat?”

“No my Lady,” he said, releasing her swiftly and rubbing his hands together. “Things after we escaped….well.” 

He paused, unsure. “How much do you know? And….how did you know I was here?”

She smiled into tired blue eyes. “Horatio wrote.”

He raised his eyebrows at that.

“He wrote….? But… you came from _London_?”

“William,” she said gently, taking his arm in hers and tugging lightly back toward her carriage. “Let us discuss this where you can get warm and fed. You look far too thin.”

He allowed himself to be maneuvered a few feet before pausing.

“I told my coxswain that I would meet him and the others at the Lantern. They will be wondering….”

“I shall send a servant to inform them,” she said firmly. “Please. I can see for myself that you need some care. Of course you do. Consider this sailing orders from Horatio if you must.”

He gave a small smile at that, and something about it was so very sad.

“Thank you, my Lady,” he said, and they moved to her carriage without further delay. 

She could feel how damp his uniform was, and the dark circles under his eyes informed her of the strain he had been under. 

He handed her in courteously and then followed awkwardly, the wooden leg smacking the edge of the door. He flushed as he drew it in and the coachman shut the door after him.

Barbara lifted the blanket on the seat beside her and handed it to him.

“Tuck that around yourself, Commander,” she ordered, her own mind whirling around what she needed to say to this man, and wondering how best to say it without hurting his pride.

‘Be direct’, Horatio had advised. She loved her husband all the more for the thoughtfulness he was exhibiting toward his dear friend and officer. At the same time, it was perhaps just as well that she was the one to deliver the ideas that she and Horatio had in mind for William, as her Captain was an abundant mess when it came to conversations with great emotional weight. 

However, she would wait until he was fed and dry and preferably rested before she laid out the plans she had.

She had booked lodgings the day before near the centre. The moment they arrived and entered the pale stone house, she was giving instructions to the servants and sending them scurrying in all directions.

In short order, a runner had been sent to the Lantern, another to the shops for clothing, a bath was being drawn, and tea was in the making. 

She shooed a bemused Bush to his room with Samuel while she herself donned an apron to help speed the preparation of tea. 

Barbara Hornblower was rather proud of the fact that she could make scones with the best of them, but this was naturally a complete secret as a lady of her station should not be doing such things. 

She was waiting in the comfortable sitting room, the curtains drawn to shut out the gloomy day and a fire roaring behind her while she had lit as many candles as possible to chase the dark away.

Bush was running a hand through damp and curly hair and looked very unsure of himself now as he entered, being faced with a lady of her station and no Horatio to help him.

But she was well in command now, and knew how she wanted to proceed.

“William. Do come and sit down. How do you like your tea?”

He stumped over, intending to sit on the sofa, but Barbara inclined her head to the deep armchair by the fire.

“This one should suit you I think.”

He sank into it and couldn’t contain a sigh. He looked more exhausted than ever and he gave her a rueful smile at whatever he could see in her face.

“I confess that I nearly fell asleep due to hot water, Lady Barbara. Nothing in my tea, thank you.”  
  


She handed him a cup and proceeded to prepare him a plate. Cook had outdone herself as well and so a slice of quiche, a scone and several sausages graced his plate. But first she moved quickly to the ottoman and nudged it over to him.

“Get your feet up on that, Mr. Bush, and then you should eat as much as you like.”  
  


“Foot now, my Lady,” he replied, obeying and she nodded very casually.

“Well of course. I should like to hear that story I think. And how you escaped. I know only the very small amount that Horatio wrote.”

She sat opposite him, but close enough that she could hand him things and take things and over the course of their meal, she coaxed the essentials out of him. She could guess at everything he wasn’t saying, particularly when he spoke of their escape on the Loire. 

There was color in his face once more and she poured him more tea, taking the plate and setting it aside before she drew her chair closer and perched on the edge of it. 

Two months in captivity and he had been ill that whole time from his wound. Horatio must have been mad with worry. His was not a nature that could stand being caged anyway, but to also worry so for William’s life…..

She longed to see her Captain, but he was still likely three days’ sail out. 

She would do her best by his first officer in the meantime. 

“All right then,” she began setting her own half drunk tea down, and smiled at her own version of clearing the decks for action. 

“There is to be a court martial of course. And you will be called as a witness. We shall get you measured for a new uniform directly. And it would ease my mind no end if you would consent for a doctor to examine you. I cannot imagine you had many that were proficient for an English prisoner.”

He leaned back into the comfortable depths of the chair to gaze at her.

“I….well.” He cleared his throat. “It could have been worse, my Lady. The surgeon who took my foot was quite proficient as a matter of fact. It was after we left the fort that things were sporadic. It was the Captain himself who took out the last ligatures actually. I am forever indebted to him. Escaping in winter with a crippled and ill lieutenant was a miraculous feat.”

Barbara recalled that Horatio did not do well with wounds and medical things, and loved him the more for it.

“I do not think there was ever a question that he could leave that lieutenant behind, William,” she responded evenly. Blue eyes met blue eyes before his looked down. 

“Well….a doctor would be welcome, my Lady. Just to see how things are healing still. And perhaps his advice on a prosthetic.”

She had seen that he was listing on the current one and agreed completely, glad he had suggested it first.

“Yes indeed. I imagine that one is causing some discomfort,” she told him, because he should know she did not miss much and would brook no downplaying of his physical state. 

He shrugged uncomfortably. “Some it is true. My Lady, I would like to get word to my sisters….”

“Of course,” she replied. “You can write something first thing in the morning and we shall send someone to post it. They will be so very glad. I have been communicating with Susan after we feared you all dead. They are well, if grieving you.”

He looked up again at that, his face conveying surprised gratitude. 

“That was very kind of you, Lady Barbara.”

She felt the time was right now and reached to grip his left hand in both of hers, sliding off her chair to kneel by his.

He raised his eyebrow at her but waited, knowing that this was important.

“I think that you should be clear on some things, William, because both Horatio and myself would hate to have you worrying about the future. The first thing is the most important and Horatio wrote it very specifically.” 

She removed one of her hands from his, to draw the letter out of her pocket and shake it open to read the section she needed.

“...should the outcome of the court martial be in my favor, please let William know that my fate is his if he should desire it. That I shall not sail with another first officer as long as I live. Unless he is promoted to his own ship, and then of course, I shall be delighted.”

She placed the letter aside to meet Bush’s gaze once more. “Horatio cares for you a great deal. I hope you know that, even when he is rather terrible at expressing it. And he values you, not just as a friend, but as an officer he can trust implicitly.”

His blue eyes were glimmering suspiciously, but she kept on, gripping his hand firmly. “This is not pity, lest you accuse us of that. You know Horatio well enough to know he does not make foolish decisions out of sentiment. Well. When it comes to the navy.” They shared a smile, both of them aware that Horatio Hornblower could indeed be foolishly sentimental.

“You have a place with us always, William. You are my husband’s dearest friend. But you are my friend as well. Do not think I have forgotten our time on the Lydia and the stalwart support you were to us all. And based on that friendship, my dear Mr. Bush, I wish you to know this--” 

She paused to gather herself, striving for the right words to help him understand, to give him assurance. 

“You have been physically hurt and mutilated. I would wish it were not so. But your soul and your character are as whole and as _good_ as they ever were. Too many men have it the other way and have mutilated their souls, hiding their darkness in their whole bodies. We _value_ you, dear William, because your _character_ will always stand tall on two feet.”

He bowed his head over their hands and she moved one of hers to draw his head down a little more to rest against hers. 

“You are weary and worn out with so many cares. Please allow me to give you a resting place here and you can recuperate while we wait for Horatio to arrive. Because he will need us.”

He nodded and drew back slightly. Barbara reached up to lightly wipe the tears off his cheeks with her hands before kissing his forehead and releasing him. She was pleased to see that something had clearly eased in his face, and she hoped that she had given him something certain to hold onto.

“Your room should be ready now. Sleep as long as you like---I have given orders for the servants not to wake you.”  
  


She rose to her feet, smoothing down her skirts before offering him her hand to help draw him out of the chair. 

He kissed the hand he held and smiled at her. 

“Thank you, Lady Barbara. You are the best woman I know. It gives me great pleasure therefore that you are married to the best man I know.”

“Very kind, Mr. Bush. And tomorrow we can strategize on how to best help that man through his court martial. But for now----go. Sleep.”

He bowed and left the room slowly, and Barbara stood for a long time before the fire. 


	2. The Merit in the Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbara helps to get Bush into the shape he needs to be for Hornblower's court martial. This ranges from a new uniform to telling a contemptuous Admiral exactly how things stand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Barbara. She is the epitome of 'keep calm and carry on' for me. And I adore the idea that she and William have a lovely friendship aside from his friendship with her husband. I know I've said this before, but I love coming across alliances like this as I write fanfic of various sorts. And I further love that they can unite so well to look after her brilliant, over thinking husband.

Bush opened his eyes and lay still for a moment to reorient himself. It was quite possibly the most comfortable bed he had ever been in, and the luxurious comfort of that for his much abused body had him drowsy all over again.

It was quite possible that he dozed because when he next opened his eyes, it was clear someone had been in his room. Fresh clothing was hanging in the open wardrobe, and the fireplace in his room was now busy containing a cheerful fire that snapped and bobbed at him invitingly. 

He sat up and instantly the muscles in every part of his body let him know that they felt egregiously used by this action.

He carried on anyway because really he ought to have been out of bed ages ago. Lady Barbara was most kind in her insistence that he rest, but his Captain would be here in two days' time now, and he wished to discuss how to prepare for his arrival with Horatio’s wife. 

He hopped to the wardrobe to retrieve the clothing, and balanced himself against the bed as he dressed in very fine materials indeed. Lady Barbara had impeccable taste, and the blue waistcoat soothed his soul as he wasn’t in uniform. His wooden leg was on the bedside table, and he strapped it on, the stump throbbing at him after all the over exertions of the past weeks. He would very much appreciate a doctor looking it over.

A knock sounded and he called a quick ‘come in!’ as he finished buttoning cuffs and straightening his stock in the mirror over the washbasin.

He caught a glimpse of a woman setting down a tray with tea things on the table by the window. 

“Thank you….” he paused, not recalling meeting any of the maids the night before.

“Barbara would be lovely, but I haven’t convinced you of that yet, so no doubt you will stick to ‘Lady Barbara’,” said the lady, straightening and turning around as he flushed. 

“My apologies, Lady Barbara, I had expected a maid. You are very kind to bring that up.”

She smiled, assessing him in a way that was oddly like her husband’s with just as keen a gaze.

“Not at all, William. Yes, those suit you well. Though you are much too thin. Well. I think we can do something about that. How did you sleep?”

“Very well,” he answered truthfully, despite his aching muscles. “And I fear much too long. What is the time?”

“It is merely 11. You could have spent the day in bed and no one would have thought less of you,” she replied watching as he stumped over to accept the tea from her. Except it was not tea. It was some of the best coffee he had ever tasted and she gave him another little smile at the surprise on his face.

“You are a naval man, Mr. Bush. Coffee in the morning. And I know you drink tea if you are given it, but this is your preference is it not?”

This woman. Clearly the sharp and tactical Wellesley mind ran in the family, not to mention the ability to lead from birth. Had Lady Barbara been royalty, she would have been a most magnificent queen, he thought.

“It is, thank you,” he said inhaling the scent again and feeling new life in his veins. 

“Molly is almost finished shining your shoe and then the tailor is coming to fit your new uniform. I took the liberty of going out this morning for your new hat and some of the other bits.”

She was utterly composed when referring to his injury---as though it were the most natural thing in the world, and his gratitude was nearly overwhelming. 

The other ‘bits’ as it turned out when he joined her downstairs in the large and gracious drawing room----much different to the cozier one of the night before--included snowy white shirt and waistcoat, several pairs of stockings, a black stock of excellent quality and…..

“I would like your honest assessment,” she told him, “if it is not to your liking, I’m very happy for us to return tomorrow when we will retrieve Horatio’s, and you can choose something different.”

In her outstretched hands, lay a beautiful naval sword, the gilt handle unblemished and the long steel blade gleaming coldly in the light.

He stared stupidly for a moment before remembering himself and meeting her happy blue eyes. 

He stepped forward and carefully lifted it from her hands. The balance was perfect, the blade so sharp that he felt he might cut himself looking at it. 

And he wanted to take it. He knew she was doing her best to help. But he couldn’t. “My Lady,” he said, looking up from the blade, “you are kindness itself, but while this is a beautiful blade, I fear it is not one I can accept. This is all too generous…”

“William. The Witch of Endor was bought by the navy. And if I am not mistaken, all the prizes you and Horatio won before the destruction of the Sutherland are now coming to you as well.” 

She had that understanding look on her face again---an expression he had seen often as she watched Hornblower on the Lydia. 

“So, I do understand that you have your pride. I have informed the tailor that the uniform is going on your account.”

His mouth curled slightly at that. Lady Barbara moved to him and held out the scabbard, a simple but elegant affair. 

“The sword however, I would like you to consider a gift from myself and Horatio. For the truest friend there ever was. For the brother you and I both know my husband considers you to be, even if he cannot express it like that.”

And Bush found his eyes burning again and cursed himself for being so weak. The flight from France must have taken more out of him than he realized. She stepped closer to lay a hand on his arm.

“Can you accept a gift, dear William, as a very small token of the very great affection Horatio and I have for you?”

Well he certainly could not turn it down now without being utterly churlish. He took the scabbard from her and sheathed the sword.

“I can do that,” he replied a little hoarsely and cleared his throat. She patted his arm again. 

“I’m glad. Now then. The tailor will be here shortly and then the doctor. Once we have his opinion on your health and you have eaten something, we can accomplish a few errands.”

He looked up from examining the new waistcoat and set the sword down on the table by the gilt and cream sofa. 

“Lady Barbara, your husband arrives in two days. We don’t really have time to waste on…..”

He trailed off at the stern expression that came over her face.

“Mr. Bush, are you suggesting to me that your well being is a waste of my time?”

And she had phrased that in such a way that left him at a loss as to how to respond without being rude.

She nodded in supreme confidence. 

“That is what I thought. Horatio made a great effort to ensure that you should be given the consideration you deserve. This is part of it and I would not be fulfilling his wishes if I were to allow you to roam around Portsmouth on his behalf without any regard to your well being. You have done that already for a great many years.”

The bell sounded and both of them looked around at that. 

“Oh good. This will be the tailor with your coat and hat.”

And Bush found himself in the novel position of having a tailor come to him rather than the other way around. He appreciated the high quality wool of the blue officer’s coat and felt much more at ease in proper British uniform, however briefly he was in it for the moment. 

The tailor departed with the promise that all would be ready by the next afternoon and then he was enjoying lunch before the doctor made his appearance.

And for some very strange reason, numerous insecurities suddenly cascaded over Bush as he heard the man in the entry hall. He rose from the armchair where he had been sitting before the fire, trying to appear calm, when in reality his head was roaring and he found he had a hard time focusing on anything.

He clasped his hands tightly behind his back, aware as he did so, that it was a habit of his captain’s, but he couldn’t be bothered about that now.

_ What if the job had been botched? What if he was told more must come off? What if the doctor agreed with the vice Admiral of the day before and declared Bush unfit to go to sea? Surely even Horatio could not countermand such an official opinion. _

Then her Ladyship’s golden head was sweeping back into the room and she was followed, not by the gruff older sort of doctor Bush had been expecting, but by a slightly chubby younger man. The doctor’s round face was almost cherubic and Bush wondered wildly for a moment if the man was old enough to wield a lancet.

“Captain Bush, this is Doctor Brand. He is quite brilliant at what he does and is particularly gifted with amputations.”

He shot Lady Barbara a look, startled out of his overwhelmed state by the title.

“My Lady, apologies, but I am a commander.”

“Oh I am quite sure you will be posted officially, William.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her, but decided not to argue the point. Lady Barbara’s calm optimism was bolstering certainly---he appreciated her good opinion, but he did not see the Admiralty confirming his post.

“I’ll leave you to it, Doctor,” Lady Barbara said and Bush hoped that neither of them could hear his heart thundering in his breast. His friend’s wife laid a quick hand on his shoulder as she left the room and then he was left to the mercies of this mere child.

However, Doctor Brand stunned him with his confident professionalism, checking his lungs and heart and all the other more basic things before he even asked one question regarding his amputated limb.

“Do you wish me to sit, Doctor?” Bush asked, preparing to take off the wooden prosthetic.

“No, no not yet, Captain,” the man said, and Bush winced internally at a title that would never be his in reality. “I wish to see how you put your weight on it. Yes. Hm...And there are a good….” 

Bush stared behind him as the man knelt and was he pulling out a…..measuring tape? He was.

“...six inches of the leg itself below the knee joint. Hmmm. Yes. All right, you can sit now and I’ll look at the stump.”

And damn and blast Bush hated that word. Passionately. A constant reminder of what he didn’t have, and never would again.

But he sat quietly and unstrapped the wooden leg so that the Doctor could finish his exam. 

The man was silent for an unnervingly long time, but when he at last looked up, Bush was not expecting the keen intelligence in those grey eyes. The Doctor’s baby face did him no favors for inspiring confidence, but those eyes…..those were the eyes of a man who knew precisely what he was about.

“Whoever did the surgery did a very good job indeed, Captain. It healed cleanly and there seem to be no bone chips or twisted muscles. I think you would have felt that if there had been. How is the pain now?”

“None at all really,” Bush replied, still feeling as though he was waiting to be told a firing squad awaited him.

The Doctor gave him a skeptical look. “I have closely examined your leg, Captain Bush. Did you want to give me that answer again?”

_ Oh for….. _

“It’s sore occasionally, but surely that is to be expected when I am using it frequently. As I have been for some weeks now, quite strenuously.”

The Doctor nodded in satisfaction at this admission before rising to examine the leg that Bush himself had worked to shape back in France. It all seemed like a strange dream now.

“I know an excellent craftsman,” Doctor Brand said, handing the leg back to Bush. “And I think we can do a damn sight better for you than that. I don’t like your knee having to do something it wasn’t designed for. And it hampers your movement to be in a prosthetic like that.”

Bush felt slightly offended at this statement, but was curious as to what the Doctor had in mind. 

“I think we can get you used to a prosthetic that fits directly onto the stump. It needs a little more time to heal there as it would be too tender now. But I will consult with my colleague. In the meantime, I can find you something more comfortable. Lady Barbara says if you are to have a new prosthetic it must be ready in two days time is that correct?”

Bush blinked. It was still novel to him that things could be achieved so swiftly. But then, it was Lady Barbara and he associated miraculous things with her.

“Yes, it is.”

“All right then.”

He began packing his satchel and Bush felt slightly light headed.

“Is that…..you don’t need to do anything more? I…..can keep what’s there?”

The young man paused and looked at him knowingly. “Yes, sir. And I can get you the use of that knee back. You’ll have to relearn a few things, but I think you’ll appreciate the easier movement.”

Brand moved to the bell and pulled the rope. “It was good to meet you, Captain. I hear you’re quite the hero.”

Bush, still struggling out of the armchair, gave him a puzzled look. “I think you have me confused with Captain Hornblower, sir.”

Brand grinned at him suddenly, looking even more boyish as he did so.

“I am aware who Captain Hornblower is, sir. But you are the one who brought in the Witch of Endor, correct?”

“Yes….”

“Then I know who I am speaking of. And you feature quite prominently in the papers, Captain Bush. Hero on the Sutherland. Defied Napoleon to escape with such a wound as yours? Oh yes. My sister is rather taken with you.”

Good Lord.

Bush flushed slightly. “I beg your pardon...I’ve never met…..”

“Oh I know,” the Doctor said, shaking his head. “But she thinks you are the bravest man she’s heard of.”   
  


“Well she’s not wrong,” said Lady Barbara entering with a housemaid. “Rachel will see you out, Doctor. Thank you so very much for coming.”

And Bush was left facing her.

“You do not have to tell me, William, but I am interested in what Doctor Brand said, should you be willing to share it.”

He dragged his scattered thoughts back into some semblance of order. “He ah….he believes he can fit me with a better prosthetic. One which will allow me the proper use of my knee.”

She swept to him to take both his hands in hers. “Well that is marvelous news! I’m so very pleased. And how are you over all?”

The Doctor had muttered various things like ‘underweight’ and ‘plenty of rest’. Bush hesitated, not used to sharing such personal things. On the other hand, he was not sure he could resist the glowing face before him either. 

“I’m reasonably well,” he settled on. “I do need to gain back some weight.” He did his best to ignore her raised eyebrows which stated ‘I told you so’ in no uncertain terms.

“And I’mtorest,” he hurried together because that really needed to wait until after the court martial.

She released his hands to put her own on her hips and stare him down.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Bush, I’m not used to you mumbling. What was that?”

He sighed. “I’m to rest. But Lady Barbara, I do believe we can wait to do that until after Captain Hornblower has arrived and we know the results of the trial.”

“You and I both know he will be acquitted,” Barbara responded. “And things are progressing well to prepare for his arrival. So. You will indeed follow Doctor’s orders, and I will do today’s errands on my own.”

He  _ needed  _ to be doing something. He wished he could make her understand that.

“My Lady, I will follow those orders, but my Captain…” he cleared his throat, suddenly overwhelmed once more at the thought of Horatio and Archie without him on the Triumph. “My Captain needs me at his side for this more than almost anything else.”

“And you shall be, dearest William,” Lady Barbara responded. “But we can’t have both of you on the verge of collapse. Think of poor Archie as well. So may I present my plan? And then if you still have objections, I cannot tell you no.”

He nodded.

“I propose that you spend this afternoon doing what you wish here. I might suggest a book by the fire, but it is entirely up to you. I shall get the final things in place for Horatio’s arrival. Then, later tomorrow you and I can collect any post for Horatio from the Admiralty as well as your official confirmation.”

_Well that wouldn't be happening, but he would not say so to her._

“I wish we could see him before the trial, your Ladyship.”

She smiled at him mischievously. “Well, you are of course, testifying. But if you were to go out to the ship a little earlier? Deliver Horatio’s post?”

He was reminded all over again of their small plots for Horatio’s health on the Lydia.

He managed to smile back.

“I would be delighted to do so, Lady Barbara. Though….” a thought struck him. “He lost his sword as well when we surrendered.” He thought unprintable things about Caillard. “Perhaps, if you don't mind, he could borrow this lovely one you have so kindly given me?”

“Oh, William. You will need that. I already have something in mind for my husband.”   
  


_ Of course she did. _

“Let me take care of that. Ring the servants for tea when you are ready for it. I shall be back in a few hours’ time.”

She had an aura of purpose about her and again he was reminded of her husband. Lady Barbara was in command and about to complete a mission. Her foot was on her quarterdeck and she knew how to beat to quarters like the true Wellesley she was. 

She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek and then she was gone in a flurry of skirts and a call for her maid.

Bush sank back into the chair by the fire and wondered if he would be able to keep his worried thoughts for his Captain from overwhelming him. The flames danced for him, and somewhere in watching their performance, Bush fell asleep.

  
  


*****

Barbara removed the velvet lined hood from her curls very carefully as she entered the Portsmouth Admiralty building. Horatio’s sword was being completed by the smith and she had called in at the tailor to see that William’s uniform was going to be ready when she needed it to be. Having been reassured on this front, Barbara prepared herself for battle. 

It was possible that she was mistaken in the conclusions she had drawn from observing William, but Barbara was rarely mistaken. She read people well, and more, she knew the workings of the navy. 

A harried secretary hurried up to her.

“Madam? What can I do for you?”

“Please inform vice Admiral Thomas that Lady Barbara Hornblower is here to see him.”

“Ah, my Lady, I fear the Admiral might be busy with naval matters…..”

“If by that you mean I am interrupting his afternoon drinks, I am sure he can make time for me, do you not agree?”

“Ah….yes, my Lady.”

He scurried off under her cool blue gaze and she moved slowly through the marble halls, looking at the massive oil portraits of former Admirals and Captains and ships. 

The same hapless young man came hustling back to her. 

“Please would you step this way, Lady Barbara? And I am to apologize for the delay.”   
  


“I should think so,” she agreed, sweeping along behind him.

They entered the dark panelled office where Admiral Thomas and several of his peers were standing with sherry glasses in hand.

“Ah, Lady Barbara. Such a lovely and unexpected pleasure. Gentlemen, may I present Lady Barbara Hornblower?”

“Lady Barbara needs no introduction,” said a tall, steel haired man. “My Lady, I must give you my best good wishes on your husband’s safe return to England.”

She smiled at him, recalling that he was vaguely familiar. 

“Thank you so much ah…”

“Sir Edward Pellew, madam.”

And of course. He looked older, but it all rushed back now.

She gave him her most gracious smile. “Well, it is a great pleasure to have him back indeed, Sir Edward. And I am so pleased to see you again. I do wish this was a social call. Please come see us in Portsmouth when this trial business is complete.”

He bowed. “The pleasure is all mine, my Lady. Come, gentlemen, We ought to allow Lady Barbara her conference with Admiral Thomas.” He gave her a keen look and she couldn’t help but wonder if he discerned why she was here. Nonetheless she appreciated his assistance in chivvying the others out of the room.

She waited until the heavy doors closed.

“Now then, my ah, dear, what can I do for you?” asked Admiral Thomas, sipping at his sherry some more. “May I take your cloak?”

She was shorter than he was by two inches or so. She measured him with her glance, and decided that was not going to trouble her.

“Oh I don’t intend to be that long, thank you Admiral,” she responded calmly. “I merely came by since I was close anyway. I wondered if my husband might have any correspondence that would have been stored here.”

Thomas looked a little puzzled. “Well, ah...certainly that can be looked into, my Lady. But I wouldn’t know about that as well as some of the secretaries here….”

“True,” she responded sweetly, “your lofty rank is hardly that of the post carrier. However, I thought you might be the person to speak to about confirming Captain Bush’s appointment in good time. You are aware he is to testify in my husband’s court martial, and I am arranging for the proper uniform to be prepared as he lost everything in the flight from France as you can imagine.”

Thomas stared at her blankly for a moment.

“You….need the proper uniform…?”

“Yes indeed,” Barbara proceeded as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “I am aware that Admiral Lord Gambier promoted him to commander with the promise that the post of Captain was to follow, when he sent him here in the Witch of Endor. If you would be so good, sir, as to confirm that posting, I would be most appreciative.”

“And, I do beg your pardon, Lady Barbara,  _ who  _ are we discussing?   
  


“Captain William Bush. Until recently my husband’s first officer. The man who stood by him on the Sutherland and was gravely wounded in that desperate action. The one who escaped Bonaparte’s clutches in the dead of winter with only one good leg and then proceeded, with my husband and Lieutenant Kennedy, to escape down the Loire to meet with the Channel Fleet. The one who helped to recover the Witch of Endor and sail her here with a skeleton crew that was almost literally that?  _ That  _ Captain Bush. Does that help your memory, Admiral?”   
  


At last recognition dawned on the wrinkled face of the man before her, and he pursed his lips before painting the condescending look on his countenance.

Barbara hated condescending looks directed at herself. 

A _great_ deal.

“Ah yes,  _ Commander  _ Bush. Quite so. Well, you see my dear, you labor under some misapprehension. I do not know what Mr. Bush has informed you, but surely he should have told you that I was quite firm in my thoughts. The Royal Navy really can’t use crippled seamen at the moment. I appreciate that your woman’s heart is very soft, and I am sure you are trying to help…”

_ Crippled seaman? _

“I beg your pardon,” she interrupted, doing her best to move past the ‘woman’s heart’ remark and focus on the important things. “Did you inform Captain Bush of the same thing? In those words?”

“Well of course, Lady Barbara. I’m sure that Admiral Gambier had the glow of recent triumph about him when he promoted Mr. ah, Bush, but _really_. I can’t confirm that into Captain. What could he possibly do? Besides, he doesn’t have the right connections for such a position. I’m sure that you can understand that. Perhaps your brother has explained such things before.”

A red mist drifted briefly before Barbara’s eyes at this.

_ The right connections…..Her brother explaining…..  _

She took a deep breath to calm herself and adjusted her cloak to rest back on her shoulders in order to free her arms further. 

“I wish to be very clear, Admiral Thomas. As I am indeed a woman with a soft heart and head, I do not wish to misunderstand what you are saying.”

He nodded with a small little smile and tiny shake of the head that said ‘women, God bless their little souls.”

“You are unwilling to post Mr. Bush to Captain because he does not have the right familial connections or background, according to you. You would like to make Admiral Gambier’s word void--- a fellow Admiral no less and deny this promotion which was promised to Mr. Bush. Further you believe I am here to ask about this promotion because I am acting out of pity as, surely, I have no finer understanding of the workings in His Majesty’s Navy.”

As she spoke, Thomas’s expression shifted gradually from condescending agreement to puzzlement, to a frown of concern. 

She intended his expression to be ashen when she was done with him.

“So perhaps it would be timely for me to help you, Admiral Thomas, in setting some things straight in your sadly misguided thought process.”

“I came here because I had thought that perhaps you would be so good as to do a favor to a former Wellesley and wife of England’s current hero, by speeding the posting up a few days so that I could get the proper uniform ready for Mr. Bush. I discover instead that you are under the mistaken delusion that I have no idea how the British Navy operates. I, who have spent my life in a family, not just of seamen, but of Admirals. You then had the gall to assume that your fellow Admiral was mistaken in Mr. Bush’s suitability for Captain, not because of his remarkable talents, no, because he does not have the proper  _ connections _ .”

She paused to spear him with an icy blue gaze.

“Are the connections to the Hornblower and Wellesley families not lofty enough for you, Admiral Thomas? Because I assure you, we think of William Bush as family. I would never presume to ask that he be promoted for that reason, because I have no intention of filling the British navy with useless individuals who are only there because they knew someone important. We have plenty of those already as I’m sure you’ll agree.”

She smiled dangerously into his eyes at this juncture and Thomas choked slightly, taking a swift drink from his sherry glass. He still wasn’t quite the ashen complexion she was striving for, so she continued.

“I  _ certainly  _ have no problem, however, in asking that you fulfill the orders of a fellow Admiral; and if my name is helpful in encouraging you to do what you ought to have done in the first place, then so be it.”

“Finally,  _ Admiral  _ Thomas, if I hear your sneering little voice refer to  _ Captain  _ Bush as a ‘cripple’ once more, or frankly any of the good men who have lost limbs in the service of His Majesty, I shall have no trouble whatsoever in declaring you a mental cripple to whatever party we happen to be in. Do I make myself perfectly clear,  _ vice-Admiral  _ Thomas?”

And  _ there  _ was the expression she was looking for. 

His hand was actually shaking as he set his glass upon his desk and moved behind it.

As though that would save him.

“My, ahem, my aides know where the documents are to confirm such a thing, ah Lady Barbara.”

“Perhaps you should call one then,” she said sweetly. “What is it that you do anyway, vice-Admiral?”

And it was petty perhaps for her to add that, but she had stunned herself with how close she had come to physically striking this man for the awful wounded look that Bush had worn the previous day. Given that, she allowed herself that one petty question.

“Ah, well, your Ladyship, I….”

“Nevermind, I confess my pretty little head wouldn’t be able to hold onto that information I’m sure. Please do get your aide and this can be official.”

Looking as though he had been blown about by a southwesterly gale, the Admiral pulled the bell and in moments a competent aide had brought the right form for the Admiral to sign, and then he hustled out to add Captain William Bush to the official post list.

Barbara smiled again at Thomas.

“Thank you so much, Admiral Thomas. I’m sure we don’t need to hear any more of the matter do we?”

“Ah….no your Ladyship.” He was steadying himself with both hands on his desk as she drew her cloak around her once more. 

“Then good day, sir.”

And she swept out, the deep blue fabric sweeping behind her as she made her way toward the portico and her carriage. 

She was surprised to see a grand figure waiting for her at the end of the portico.

“Sir Edward.”

“Lady Barbara. May I hand you into your carriage?”   
  


She was slightly puzzled as it seemed he had been specifically waiting for her. 

“Thank you so much.” He took her hand and courteously helped her to step up.

“Did… you need to speak to me, Sir Edward?” she asked as he shut the door.

He smiled at her. “Not at the moment, Lady Barbara. When your husband is cleared of all charges, as I am certain he will be, I would greatly enjoy some time to see you both. And Mr. Bush if he is present.”

_ Did he know….? _

_  
_ _  
_ “I will make certain that we have that opportunity, Sir Edward.”

  
  


*****

Barbara handed her cloak to Molly and smoothed her hair in the wide entryway. “Molly, where is Captain Bush?” she asked, secretly very pleased to be able to confidently refer to him that way. 

The young maid smiled at her. “E’s sleeping in the drawin’ room, my Lady.”

Excellent.

She made her way there, feeling quite flush with success on many fronts, where she nearly ran into Brown. 

“Oh! Mr. Brown, I’m so pleased you found the house all right. Did the housekeeper show you your room?”

Brown touched his knuckles to his forehead and did a sort of awkward bob, as he realized that saluting for a Lady wasn’t exactly what he was supposed to do. 

“Yes, my Lady, thank you. You really didn’t need to….”

“I did actually, Mr. Brown. You can be a great help to Captain Bush. I’m sure he will appreciate your presence.”

He stared at her dumbly. “Captain….”

“Well yes, Mr. Brown. That was Admiral Gambier’s intention after all. I just found out it has been confirmed.”

The big coxswain smiled broadly. “Well. Well. That’s just….Blow me over, my Lady. I thought they’d never...you know. On account of the leg…”

“Yes, well if Lord Nelson managed with a missing arm, I don’t see why our Mr. Bush can’t manage with a missing foot, hmm?” she replied, returning the smile. “Do you know if he’s still sleeping?”

“Yes, my Lady. He’s right wore out, I should think. Barely slept on our journey from the Channel fleet. And before that, well. I should let Captain Hornblower tell you about that, Lady Barbara.”

She was strongly tempted to ask Brown to tell her about it, as his perspective was no doubt very revealing, but propriety demanded she wait.

“Thank you, Mr. Brown. But supper should happen soon, so I will dare to wake him. I do hope they remembered to stoke the fire in here…”

“Oh I did that an hour ago, my Lady. I been here since shortly after you departed. I made sure to check on the Lieu---on the Captain.” He smiled widely again at using the title. “I made sure he’s warm enough don’t you worry, my Lady.”

She patted his burly arm. “I’m not in the least, Brown, thank you. Do go and tell cook that I would appreciate supper shortly.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

She opened the tall white doors, and appreciated that the big drawing room was indeed warm though the smaller one did a much better job at keeping things cozy. She was very pleased that Bush had slept so long and hoped it would indeed be refreshing to him. She needed his help with Horatio---she was confident that if William was this exhausted, her husband would be doubly so.

More than that however, it had been at least a year since Bush had truly been somewhere he could rest without worry of any kind. She approached the big armchair by the fire and was delighted to see that someone, likely Brown, had tucked one of the big afghans around William. He did indeed look peaceful and she was reluctant to wake him, but he could sleep again after they ate. 

Besides. She had news.

She placed a hand to his shoulder and shook it very gently.

“William.”

He sighed and then blue eyes were looking into hers.

“Hello.”

“Lady Barbara,” he smiled slowly. “I apologize. How long…?”   
  


“No apologies, dear man. You needed this. I’m only rousing you because supper will be served soon, and I thought I should give you time to freshen up.”

He straightened and looked in surprise at the blanket pooling on his lap. “What…?”

“Mr. Brown arrived shortly after I left and immediately resumed his duties in looking after his commanding officer,” she told him.

He snorted lightly, but looked happy about that all the same. 

“And your errands, Lady Barbara? I trust they were fruitful?”

“Mmm,” she said, smiling slyly and moving to the decanter on the table, pouring him a glass of Madeira before pouring one for herself. “I think so. Horatio’s sword will be done in good time, as will your uniform. And I stepped into the Admiralty to see about collecting any post for you to take out to Horatio. They assured me they will have it ready in time for you to do so.”

“Very good. You are a wonder, Lady Barbara.”

“Well thank you, Captain Bush,” she replied lightly, tapping her glass gently to his.

He bit his lower lip briefly at that. “My Lady, I love that you are almost as optimistic as Archie Kennedy, but….”

“Oh that was the other thing,” she said demurely. “I was informed that they could indeed speed up your confirmation to Captain as promised by Admiral Gambier so that I could have the proper uniform ready for you.”

She deeply enjoyed the look that came over his face as he turned his head up sharply to look at her directly. 

“They confir…”

“Yes, it should appear in the post list soon.”

“My  _ Lady… _ .”

He rose carefully, depositing the blanket on the chair and balancing himself with one hand on the back of it. 

He took a moment to examine her keenly and she raised an eyebrow at him.

She could see that he was wrestling with wanting to ask her if she had somehow exerted her considerable influence. Bush was more insightful than Horatio often gave him credit for as Barbara had learned well on the Lydia.

“I shall set that suspicious mind of yours at rest at once, William, and tell you that I certainly did not ask them to make you Captain. I merely asked them to speed it up a little.”

“For my uniform,” he repeated, staring at her still. 

She looked back at him, confident that she had not in fact used her name to get him a promotion. Merely used it to keep that promotion from being denied.

He could clearly see her truthful answer and shook his head.

“I….can scarcely believe it.”

“Well. I’m not sure what else to do to convince you…”

The warm happiness that was shining out of those honest blue eyes was a deep satisfaction in her soul.

“I believe you, Lady Barbara. And...thank you for such wonderful news.”

She stepped close and kissed his cheek.

“You deserve it and more, William.”

“Thank you. I wonder how Kennedy would feel about being my first officer.”

He grinned widely at her and she wondered when he had done so last.

She laughed. “I think you and Horatio will have to figure that out, Captain Bush.”


	3. A Hero's Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horatio and Archie return to England, where Horatio faces his court-martial with characteristic gloom. But his wife and his friends will all stand by him, whatever the outcome.

Horatio sat glumly in the little cabin on board the _Victory_ that he and Archie shared. His spirits had risen when the little sailing ship had drawn alongside the _Victory_ and offered to take letters back to England, giving him the chance to write to Barbara, but they had plunged right down into his boots again when Bush had departed two days later with his first command, the _Witch of Endor,_ for though the pride in William's face at being promoted to Commander had been very real, Horatio did not think that the flash of pain and worry that had followed had been his imagination. He had done his best to reassure his friend that there would always be a place for him by his side, but such reassurances, he felt, must necessarily fall rather flat when there was no guarantee that he would ever have a command again himself. He hoped that his letter would reach Barbara in time for her to come and meet Bush at Portsmouth. His wife was far better than he was at setting unhappy minds at ease.

Since then, the looming court-martial had more than sufficed to keep his spirits depressed, and though Archie was doing his valiant best to keep him occupied and cheerful, the fact of the matter was that there was no occupation for him aboard the _Victory_ and not all his friend's ingenuity could provide one. He had unbent sufficiently to attend dinners with the other officers, and he had joined in their conversation to the best of his ability, helped by the friendly Captain Calendar. There was plenty of news from the Channel Fleet that he had missed in his six months' sojourn in France; there were blockade actions, there was the full story of the taking of Rosas (which was retold many times, since it had only been enabled by Hornblower's actions), and besides that there were military actions on the Continent and the Duke of Wellington's latest successes, which were considered especially interesting to Hornblower as the Duke's brother-in-law.

All in all, he managed to comport himself reasonably well during these dinners, and if he was a little standoffish on deck, that was not thought unnatural, since he was a man under the shadow of court-martial, though Admiral Lord Gambier's promotion of Bush into the _Witch_ was widely considered a good omen for his future. 

Archie had been drawn into the flagship's busy social life far more easily. He was friends with the flag lieutenant, and the secretary who had looked at Horatio with such awe when he made his report, and, well, nearly everyone on board ship, within the first few days. Not for the first time, Horatio envied his cheerful disposition and ability to make himself agreeable to most everyone he met. But he always had time for Horatio, and more than once had managed to draw him into a cheerful conversation amongst the younger officers. They had been a little awed by the famous Hornblower at first, but slowly the awe was beginning to wear off, as was the reserve that they had felt in the presence of a man who was technically under arrest, and Horatio found that it was rather pleasant to be part, after a fashion, of the life of the young men of a ship again. He was not _their_ captain after all, even though he was a post captain, and so they were freer around him than they ever would have been around Calendar.

But now the _Victory_ had pulled into Portsmouth, and the court-martial would be convening on the morrow, and there was really nothing that could distract Horatio from it. He felt as though he were in the little rowboat on the Loire again, pitching over the dam in the cold and dark, waiting to see if the caprice of the current would fling him ashore unhurt, or drag him to pieces on the rocks of the bottom, gasping out his last breath in helpless agony. He shuddered as the memory of that moment returned to him, and reflected wryly that the only thing which could distract him from the potential wreck of his career was apparently the memory of even greater misery.

There came a rap at the door. Horatio wondered if it was Archie coming back, or someone to prepare him for the court martial. "Come in," he called curtly.

But the door opened and it was Bush who stumped through, his face wreathed in smiles and his arms full of letters and packages. He looked, Horatio noticed, far better than he had when he departed to sail the _Witch_ back to England. The _Triumph's_ tailor had done his best with the second-hand uniforms which had been allotted to him and his officers, but they had not fitted well, and Bush had looked rather drowned in his too-large coat, which had only emphasised the lingering thinness of his face and the asymmetry in his gait. Now he was wearing a uniform that fitted him — Horatio felt a momentary surge of envy — and his wooden leg must have been refitted as well, for he no longer limped. 

He noted as well that the epaulette sat on Bush's right shoulder. He had been posted as captain then, and that observation sent whatever was left of Horatio's depression flying like fog before the wind. He sprang to his feet and wrung Bush's hand, nearly sending letters flying everywhere in his excitement. He was grinning as delightedly as his friend, he realised, as he urged Bush to sit down and asked anxiously after his health. "I'm well enough, sir," Bush said as he sat. "Lady Barbara met me at Portsmouth and said she'd had your letter. She sent me with an answer, too — it's on top here."

By some faculty which must have been telepathic in nature, for there were nearly twenty letters under his arm, Bush picked out one which was addressed simply to "Horatio," in strong yet feminine writing which Hornblower knew as well as his own.

He was silent while Horatio broke the seal and read, 

June 4, 1811  
Portsmouth

My dearest husband,

To echo the opening of your own letter, how shall a woman who has believed herself a widow for six months express her rejoicing to find her husband once more among the living? There are no words for such an occasion and so I shall not endeavour to convey the true depth of my feelings. Suffice to say that the arrival of your letter made a very dismal day into one of the happiest of my life.

I eagerly await the rest of the tale at which your letter hints. Six months in France, under Bonaparte's nose, and yet you have returned to me safe, and brought your friends with you, and not a word did the world hear of it until you sailed up to the Channel Fleet, a dead man captaining a lost ship. I wish I had been there to hear you declare yourself. William says it was worth hearing. 

Arthur said that he would like you to teach the Spanish something about guerrilla fighting when he heard how long you had been in hiding with Bonaparte none the wiser, which is I think as close as he will come to saying that he is glad you are alive.

Your letter did arrive before William did, though not by long, and I was able to meet him in Portsmouth and assure him of his future with you. The vice-Admiral in charge of the Portsmouth office was not entirely obliging, but Admiral Gambier's recommendation, combined with a little persuasion, has seen William posted as captain, as you have no doubt noticed. Please convey my greetings to Archie as well.

Trusting that I shall see you soon,

Your loving wife,

Barbara

Horatio folded the letter carefully and slipped it into the pocket of his uniform coat, where it made a reassuring crinkling sound when he moved, reminding him that whatever the outcome of the court martial, Barbara would stand by him, and his friends too. "Thank you," he said to Bush, who, with magnificent tact, had been studying the view of the Isle of Wight that was visible through the gun-ports.

"You're welcome," was all Bush said by answer, and then he changed the subject by setting the largest of his packages on the table.

"This is a sword," Horatio said, looking at it. "Where on earth did it come from?"

Bush grinned and said nothing, but handed Hornblower a clasp-knife that he produced from his pockets. Horatio shook his head with a grin and cut the string that bound the paper. It was indeed a dress sword, a magnificent one with a gilded hilt and an elaborate hand-guard. Hornblower drew it carefully. The balance was superb, and the edge, when he tested it cautiously on the wrapping-paper, was as sharp as a razor.

There were words inscribed on the blade, he noticed, and looking closer, read, _To HONOUR a Man whose DUTY was forged in the fires of Adversity, and whose LOYALTY is truer than Steel._

"Lady Barbara's idea," Bush said, seeing where his eyes had been drawn. "I told her that you'd lost yours along the way and she didn't think it was right that you have to wear another man's sword to make up your dress uniform."

Horatio smiled, ignoring the prickling in his eyes. "I am indebted to you both then," he said. "More than I was already."

"It is I who am indebted to you, Horatio," William said. "Without you I'd never have made Captain."

"It's his lordship that you should thank for that," Horatio said uncomfortably.

"But I owe it to you, all the same. And there're rumours of me getting a ship, too, and that'd never have happened without you and Lady Barbara. The best I could have hoped for without you was a dockyard post."

"Rubbish," said Horatio, made even more uncomfortable by the deep gratitude that was shining out of Bush's honest face.

"It's not," Bush retorted stoutly, "and you know it. But here, I was forgetting the rest of the letters! And I've brought the newspapers too — they've let themselves go properly, though it's no more than you deserve."

Looking at the array of letters, many of them from strangers, and the newspapers which Bush set down before him, Hornblower began to realise that he was famous. It was an odd feeling. But there had been no naval officer dear to the public for some time, and like the Israelites in the desert, the crowd demanded a tangible object for their devotion. He laughed uncomfortably. He was not sure that he liked fame and fortune. His perpetual cross-grainedness, combined with his natural modesty, told him that it was not as a result of his own merits that this had happened, but of the need of the newspapers for a hero, and that thought took much of the pleasure out of seeing his name so praised in the papers.

"Are you all right, sir?" Bush asked.

"No need to call me sir now, William," he answered, relieved at a topic that would allow him to shy away from his own odd feelings. "You're my brother captain and an equal."

This put Bush quite out of countenance, and the hash he made of his reply made Hornblower smile fondly. "I suppose I am all right," he said, once Bush had stopped stammering. "It's just that I don't feel like this is for me. The newspapers want a hero, and Captain Horatio Hornblower has returned from the dead just in time to be one. But all this," he said, waving his hand over the letters and papers on his tiny table, "is for the Captain Hornblower that the public thinks is me, not for _me."_

Bush looked at him curiously, and Horatio felt uncharacteristically vulnerable under the keen blue gaze. It occurred to him that Bush had had more time to learn his odd moods than anyone other than Archie, and he wondered suddenly how much Bush saw of the Hornblower that he knew himself to be, the man who lay behind the many defences he had erected between himself and the world. He dropped his eyes to the table and shifted uncomfortably. "You deserve it, Horatio," Bush said. "And anyone who knows you knows that you do. What does it matter what the ones who don't know you think?"

Horatio looked up again, startled by how close Bush's words had come to his own thought, and yet how opposite in tone they were to his own gloomy reflections. "I...I suppose it doesn't matter," he said. 

"Besides," Bush added cheerfully, "I'd rather see them all go barking after a real hero than after Dismal Jimmy. Can you imagine him the darling of a newspaper?"

Horatio could not, and said so, laughing, and then turned back to his letters, with the uncomfortably pleasant feeling that Bush thought him a hero rattling around in his mind and unsettling him no end. But he could not say that he minded, all the same.

That unsettled feeling contested with the unsettled feeling occasioned by the coming court-martial, with the result that over the next twenty-four hours not all of William and Archie's efforts could make him eat more than a few bites, or sleep for more than an hour at a stretch. He was famous and fortunate, and reasonably wealthy in his own right (the _Witch of Endor_ had been bought by the prize court, Bush told him, and his share was considerable, since she had been taken by an incomplete crew, and his cruise on the _Sutherland_ before that had been one long string of successful captures), and his new dress sword hung at his side to remind him of his wife's delight at his return from the dead, and his two best friends in the world were with him and had promised to testify in his favour, and yet he could not dismiss entirely the irrational terror — for so he called it to himself, scorning his own weakness — that rose into his mind whenever he thought of the coming trial.

As a result of his want of food and sleep, and the fever pitch to which his nerves were keyed, he could never remember very much of the trial. Much of what passed seemed to be shrouded in mist. But he remembered the glitter of gold lace on the assembled semi-circle of captains, and the gilding on the hilt of the sword Barbara had given him as it lay on the table before him. He remembered, too, the anxious look on Bush's honest face as he gave his testimony that no captain could have handled a ship with more skill and determination than Hornblower had the _Sutherland_ at Rosas Bay, and the fierce and unexpected eloquence with which Archie had praised his courage and steadiness in the face of the enemy. He remembered the president of the court, in exasperation, taking Admiral Martin's report of the capture of Rosas from the mumbling and nervous officer who was supposed to read it, and reading out the important passages himself. Martin had been emphatic in declaring that Hornblower's action with the _Sutherland_ had most certainly made the capture of Rosas easier, and was in his opinion all that had made it possible.

Then the court had adjourned, and there had been an elegant civilian in buff and blue who had had many questions for Hornblower. Hookham Frere, his name was, and Hornblower vaguely recalled that he was one of the wits who wrote for the _Anti-Gallican,_ but in his present agitation of mind he could not bring himself to care for that, or to offer more than brief answers to his questions.

When all the evidence had been given, it was worse, waiting with Calendar for their decision, forcing himself to sit still and appear unconcerned. Calendar was kind, and did not try to say anything, and Hornblower was pathetically grateful to him for it, so much so that he gave him his best attempt at a smile as he walked into the courtroom to try to convey his gratitude. 

Then he walked into the _Victory's_ great cabin, and jerked his head up to meet the gaze of the court, or where he thought the gaze of the court would be, for all the cabin save one space was veiled to his eyes by a mist. In that one space lay the sword that Barbara had given him, as though hanging unsupported in space, and the hilt was towards him. He was not guilty. The president of the court said the words of acquittal in a kindly tone, and then someone was buckling the sword to his waist — Archie, it was Archie, however he had contrived to be the one to do it. A large, strong hand patted his shoulder firmly, and when he looked over he saw that it belonged to Bush, who was grinning at him, though he also looked rather worried. Horatio knew that he must be pale, and his pulse was still pounding furiously in his ears, though the mist was beginning to clear. Hookham Frere was there beside him too, speaking insistently, and Bush was scowling at him. "Congratulations, sir," Frere was saying. "And now, are you ready to accompany me to London? I have had a post-chaise horsed and waiting this last six hours."

The mists were clearing a little, slowly, as he allowed himself to be led on deck by Frere. William and Archie were still there, solid presences to either side of him, and he was tempted to put out a hand to feel that they were really there, but restrained himself. He was handed down into a barge alongside the _Victory,_ and they followed him still, for which he was grateful. Frere looked as though he would have liked to say something about that, but Bush scowled at him again and he had the good sense to keep his mouth shut. 

Then a confused noise drew his attention, and he realised that the men of the _Victory_ had manned the yardarms and were yelling themselves hoarse as the barge drew away from the side. All the other ships at anchor were cheering him too. This was fame. This was success. Archie and William were shouting too, and laughing, and slapping him on the back. "I would suggest that you take off your hat," said Frere's voice from for'ard — Bush and Archie had unceremoniously ousted him from the sternsheets and were seated on either side of Horatio — "to show how much you appreciate the compliment."

Horatio did so, and tried to force a smile, though he was nearer to tears than to smiles. Archie was the first to notice, and the hand that had been cheerfully pounding on Horatio's back moved to grasp his arm in a steadying hold. The mists were closing around him again, and the deep-throated cheers sounded like the shrill piping of childrens' voices. He must have wavered where he sat, for Bush's arm was around his shoulders in another moment, and it stayed there, anchoring him to the real world, as the boat rasped against the wall. Archie had got out of the boat and was helping him out, as Bush stayed beside him, immovable as stone amid the shifting tides of yelling humanity that surrounded them. A blaspheming party of marines were trying to force their way towards Frere's post-chaise, but Brown had appeared from somewhere, and he and Bush and Archie propelled Horatio in a different direction, over Frere's shouted protests. 

They were leading him towards another coach, and suddenly he saw Barbara looking out of it over the cheering crowd, waving to him, and found himself waving his hat to her in a rush of jubilation. Archie was at his side now, as Bush and Brown shouldered a way through the crowd, shoving and dodging and occasionally simply picking up and moving anyone who got in their way. Then the door of the carriage opened and the pressure of the crowd shoved the three of them inside as Brown climbed up to take the reins, and Barbara was in his arms, and for quite some time he could think of nothing else.

He was forced to attend to the wider world again when the coach stopped in the courtyard of a pleasant stone house, and he found himself, rather embarrassed, watching as Bush and Archie exchanged grins from where they were sitting on the other side of the coach. Then he looked to Barbara for explanations. His confusion must have shown in his face, for she was smiling at him gently. "I took lodgings here as soon as I got your letter, dear," she explained. "William has been staying with me since he arrived in the _Witch of Endor._ And Frere is trying to take you to London to be made a Knight of the Bath, which is exactly what you ought to be after what you did with the _Sutherland,_ but he has no business taking you away from me just yet. You haven't eaten or slept for days, if I know you, so first you will come inside and sit down for a few minutes, and have dinner. Then we can talk about post-chaises and knighthoods."

"Knighthoods?" Horatio asked, vacuously. 

His brain was still spinning with the news of his acquittal and the cheering of the crowds and the exhilaration of his reunion with Barbara as he climbed out of the coach, and nearly stumbled over the steps. Archie hurriedly put out a hand to right him. "Yes, darling," Barbara said gently. "You're to be knighted. After you've had a proper meal."

He had very little memory of how he got inside the house. Barbara's hand on his elbow guided him through shadowy halls, and into a pleasant drawing-room with a fire burning, where there was coffee in a pot and roast beef on a plate. After he had eaten, slowly the world began to come back into focus around him. Barbara was sitting beside him. William and Archie must have been somewhere in the house, for he remembered them following him in, but they were not here now. He was alone with Barbara, for the first time in nearly a year. "I'm," he said, and stopped to clear his throat. "I'm acquitted. I'm all right."

"Yes, my dear. You are."

"I'm home."

Barbara put her arms around him. "We're both home, dear," she said. "Smallbridge isn't home without you in it."

Horatio had no idea what on earth to say to that, so he kissed her instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the rewrite of _Flying Colours_ comes to an end. Stay tuned to the series, though, because there's an original adventure from Wishfulthinking1979 coming up soon, and Morwen's rewrite of _Beat to Quarters_ is already in the works!


End file.
